


Disenchanted

by crowleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Castiel, Cheating, F/M, Hate to Love, It's a Terrible Life, Light BDSM, M/M, Musician!Cas, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyo/pseuds/crowleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith is content. He lives with his girlfriend and son whom he will soon ask to marry. His desk job is rapidly becoming a gainful career. He drives a Hybrid and uses a Blackberry. Dean's life is ordinary. However, with the recent death of his estranged brother and the new handsome, mysterious male secretary, Dean is forced to ask himself if he's happy with mediocrity. Or rather, if he's happy at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Alright Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edited]

Sam’s funeral was today. Dean dressed nice. He knew he did because Lisa said so as she put a dimple in his tie. He had smiled weakly at the compliment. It didn’t matter, everybody was dressed in black anyway. It was a small crowd. Dean felt a flicker of anger. Sammy deserved better. _Y’know, “Sammy” is a chubby twelve year old. It’s Sam, ok?_ That flame of fury was quickly stamped out by the open casket. Bobby came. He had given his hair a quick comb and he hugged Dean gruffly. He smelt like liquor. Jo and Ellen came too. Some other people were there as well and they shook Dean's hand firmly. Dean thanked them all for the long journey and sat down. He gave a short eulogy. It was monotonous, impersonal, and boring. Dean quoted some of Sam’s favorite books and only had to pause once to clear his struggling throat. Jo cried a lot but Ellen stayed solemn throughout the sermon. They were back at the hotel room by nine. The next day Dean and Bobby saw the casket lowered into the ground. It was drizzling out. Bobby poured some whiskey on the freshly covered mound. He cried. Dean stood still. He didn’t say anything as Bobby got into his own car and swerved away. Lisa and he left Lawrence on the red eye flight that night. He had to be back at work tomorrow. Dean closed his eyes as the plane took off to leave Lawrence behind. Leave Sam behind. Lisa squeezed his knee. She knew he didn’t like flying. And just like that, it was all over.

###### 

They landed in Dallas’s colorless Monday sunrise. Lisa had insisted that Dean take a couple of days off. He was in the car and pulling out of the driveway later that morning with only three hours of sleep. He still looked good, though. His suit was bright and peppy, his hair nicely slicked, and he practiced his smile on the way to the office. The gateman let him in with a wave and toothy grin that Dean returned with little difficulty. He parked in his spot. It was a pride of many people who worked at Oadriax Protection Company to have your own parking place, name spray painted to a curb and all, like a prelude to some epitaph. Dean hadn’t thought it was that special, but he accepted it when he got the promotion nonetheless. It made it less of a hassle to park, anyway. Still, his Hybrid looked like all the other’s. He rode up in the elevator with everyone that seemed to be wearing the same suit. They were all looking at their Blackberries so Dean did as well. His secretary greeted him as he walked passed to his office with the usual, “Good morning, Mr. Smith!”

“Morning, Hester. Forward all appointments to my Cloud, ok?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t close his door as he rested his suitcase on his modern glass desk that was standard for the company’s manager’s offices. He put on his bluetooth and started his day with business calls as his computer came to life. He laughed heartily at jokes that weren’t funny. He veiled his voice in sternness when he had to talk numbers. Soon that was out of the way. Dean turned to his computer and checked his schedule. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Reevaluation. Meeting. Approving a new assistant. Conference call. Conference call. Meeting. Email this person and that. Dean read it all without as much as blink.

Right before his lunch break Dean returned from the reevaluation of an employee in distribution who had sent a bodyguard to the wrong house. He was mentally sorting through his work plans to see when he would have time to fill out the required paperwork for laying that person off. Hester stopped him as he walked by.

“Mr. Smith, your hiring approvement has been moved up and your meeting with Mr. Milton has been moved to afterwards.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re approving the new assistant? It’s been moved sooner. I’m sorry, but I just learned about it and you were in a reevaluation so I couldn’t—”

“When has it been moved up to?” Dean interrupted.

“Right now, sir.”

“Right now?” Dean asked, trying to keep his countenance as positive as possible.

“Yes, sir…” Hester simmered under Dean’s gaze. He obviously wasn’t as good at concealing his feelings as he thought, “He’s in your office.”

Dean sighed. He didn’t like people in his office without his own personal invitation. He chewed at his lip and looked through the glass walls of his office to see a man sitting at the uncomfortable company chair that was placed across from his desk. The man’s back was turned to Dean. He slouched. Dean didn’t like him.

“Why do we even need a new assistant?” Dean whined to himself. Hester answered, “Sir, I’m going on maternity leave in only a few months, remember? After you approve him I’ll be training him as an assistant until I leave and then he’ll be your secretary.”

Dean huffed. Yes he remembered only briefly doing the paperwork to acknowledge that Hester would be leaving them soon. So, he nodded to Hester with a smile. It wasn’t as reassuring as he hoped. Dean straightened his tie and walked into his office with a big, fat phony smile.

“Hello there, Mister…?” Dean burst out as he entered.

The man turned to Dean. He had dopey eyes. Blue, dopey eyes. Dark hair. Matted and tangled. Tan skin. Scruff. Tie loosened. Suit wrinkled. Messy, messy, messy. Dean extended his hand and his smile tightened its strain.

“Novak,” the man returned the handshake tentatively, eyes testy. His voice was gravel and soot. Disgusting. Dean wanted to ask him to clear his throat. The man just kept talking: “Castiel Novak.”

“Well, Mr. Novak, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Dean Smith, manager of distribution and allocation of our protection agents for Oadriax Protection Company’s Southern wing. Please, don’t stand,” Dean said as he saw the man begin to get up in some semblance of an effort to greet Dean. At the request he slouched back into his seat. Dean wanted to choke him to death.

“So you’ll be Hester’s replacement?” Dean sat down and folded his hands on his desk to keep them from forming into fists.

“That’s what they tell me.” 

“And assistant before then, yes?” Dean’s smile was being tested.

“I suppose.”

“You don’t seem that excited, Mr. Novak!” Dean tried to laugh.

“And you seem too excited.”

Dean’s perfectly constructed countenance faltered. This man, this _Novak_ character, was monotonous, dull, and infuriating. Dean wanted to stab him. He couldn’t do that though, but he sure as hell could not give the job to him.

“Is there a problem here, Mr. Novak?” Dean wasn’t smiling anymore.

“No. I’m just not that excited to be making coffee,” Mr. Novak replied cooly.

“Well then why are you even here?”

“For a paycheck.”

Dean was taken aback at the bluntness. He blinked a few times and realized he had slowly been leaning forward. He straightened himself quickly and cleared his throat.

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Novak,” Dean said harshly, “you don’t have this job yet.”

“I don't think you’re aware, Mr. Smith, that that's all I understand.”

“Well then you should also _understand_ that your odds aren’t looking so hot right now to secure it.”

“Fine. Can I leave then?”

Dean was bewildered. He set his jaw and stared at the man’s dark blue eyes. They shimmered with something for the first time since the conversation had started. Hate. Mutual hate that’s what reflected in those dark expanses. Unexplainable, unadulterated hate. But Dean wasn’t going to let himself fall through. He gestured towards the door openly. Mr. Novak got up and left. Dean groaned. That had been awful.

Only a few minutes passed before Hester intercommed him, “Mr. Smith, Mr. Milton is here for your meeting.”

“Send him in.”

Zachariah Milton strutted into Dean’s office with an ugly grin that Dean tried to mirror. It was no use. Dean didn’t admit it.

“Dean-o!”

“Afternoon, Mr. Milton!”

“How was your weekend, kiddo?”

Dean swallowed shortly, “Great, great! Went fishing with the family.”

“Ah, look at you, already callin’ Lisa and Ben your family...You popped the big question yet?”

Dean chuckled, “Not yet. Been looking at rings all month, though. Just...can’t find that perfect one.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll find it, buddy!” Zachariah said conversationally. He sat his fat ass on Dean’s desk. Dean hated when people did that. He smiled up at his boss.

“So what did you need to talk about, sir?”

“You just had a meeting with your new assistant, right? The one who’s replacing that sweetheart, Hester?”

Dean furrowed his brow at the too recent row, “Novak. Yes...And he’s not my assistant. I didn’t approve of him taking the position.”

Zachariah lost his smile, “And why’s that?”

Dean lost a little of his color, “B-because the man was awful? He wasn’t excited, was rude, messy, unfriendly. His attitude was utterly unacceptable. Completely unprofessional! I didn’t think the company needed a face like that answering my calls and getting our bodyguards and fellow employees what they need, sir.”

Zachariah nodded slowly and sighed. He sat down at the chair that Novak had just been in. He looked out of Dean’s tall windows before saying, “You’re hiring him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Novak. You’re going to hire him as your personal assistant,” Zachariah said, turning to Dean.

Dean tried to be positive in his tone, “And why’s that, sir?”

“Because I said so,” Zachariah said dangerously. Dean stopped breathing.

A brief pause. Zachariah’s fake smile returned as he stood, “Look, Dean-o, I know it’s hard losing Hester. She’s the best of the best! Plus she’s got that fine ass, am I right? But you gotta move past that! This Novak kid has promise, I’m tellin’ ya! So hire him. And if you don’t…”

Zachariah had slowly gotten up and been walking towards Dean’s office door as he spoke. He turned when he got to the exit though, a creepy sneer on his blotchy pale face as he said, “Well, then I’m sure you’re fine being stuck down here at the bottom level employment for just another five years. So long, Dean!”

And with that Zachariah closed the door to Dean’s office and left. Dean scowled. He hated when people closed his door.

###### 

Castiel Novak started the next Tuesday. Dean didn’t see him again until then. He was told that Novak would have Monday and Fridays off as well as the weekends. Dean didn’t ask why. He did make it obvious that Novak would have to work full time once he became Dean’s secretary. There was no response from Mr. Milton or anybody else. This made Dean angry. He wanted a response. He wanted communication. Nobody was willing to do this for him. So Dean made a list instead.

The list consisted of all the dos and don’ts that came with being employed by Dean and Oadriax. These included dressing professionally, coming to work on time, complying to requests without any question and with a smile, and so on. It was all laid out in a nice spreadsheet format. Dean was very proud of his work. However, that Tuesday when Novak arrived Dean was stunned by what walked out of the elevator. Novak was dressed in a nicely fitted suit, ironed, with a clean shaven face and perfectly combed hair. He smiled at Hester and handed her a coffee. His tie matched his eyes. Dean crumpled the spreadsheet in his hand and threw it away. He hated this guy.

Novak had transformed. His handshake was firm when he greeted Dean again. His smile was timid but full and convincing. Dean noticed his lips were plump but chapped. Dean wondered how they would feel against his fist. Novak also brought him coffee. Black. It was just how Dean liked it. Dean told Novak he liked tea better. Novak came back with green tea in record time. Dean said he wanted chamomile. Without complaint or faltering, Novak removed the green tea and brought back chamomile even quicker than before. Dean took the tea and thanked him begrudgingly. The next day when Novak brought him chamomile Dean yelled at him and told him he was on a no caffeine diet and he should know better than to bring him anything but green tea. Novak had merely turned away and gotten him green tea. Dean hated tea all together and made a point of taking a sip of the steaming cup and then throwing it away right in front of the man the next day.

And so for three weeks it went on like that. Novak was always at work before Dean except on those blissful Mondays and Fridays. Dean wouldn’t admit it, but on those days he seemed to always be a little less productive. When Novak was there he would help out Hester with whatever she asked. He did whatever Dean said to do. He was perfect. Dean spent all his free time trying to find someway to fire him. There was nothing. He was punctual. Exuberant. Tactful. Resourceful. And yet there was something that wasn’t quite right about that smile. The man was introverted. Guarded. So Dean pursued. After those dreadful three weeks there was still nothing to be found on the man. Dean thought he was going to lose his mind. So his requests soon gained momentum in ridiculousness. He would purposefully throw away a piece of paper and then ask Novak to go through the trash the next day to find it. An hour later it was there on his desk. He would be incredibly specific in his lunch order. If there were walnuts in his salad instead of pecans he would order Novak to get a new salad. He did. Dean knew the requests were bordering on abuse, but all he had to do was push Novak over the edge and hope he’d quit. He didn’t.

Three weeks and nothing. The work days continued. Novak helped. Dean sighed. When he went home he was exhausted. Lisa would kiss him. Ask how his day was. Dean would say it was fine. Ben would hug him hello. They would eat dinner together. Dean would help with Ben’s homework. And at night Lisa and he would turn out the lights and have sex. It was quiet sex. Always in the dark. Quick. They both would come, or at least pretend to. It was an excuse to cuddle. And that’s how Dean fell asleep nearly every night, wrapped around Lisa and slipping into sleep. That night, three weeks into his new assistant, he found his spent mind wandering over Novak. His eyes were those dark blue orbs that Dean had always thought never really existed. His lips were thick and cracked. Novak licked them moist too often. Dean mused if he could fire someone for lack of chapstick use. That night Dean thought of Novak. He thought of how Novak was going to be his secretary soon and how it looked more and more like Dean was just going to have to deal with that. Dean wondered if things were always going to be like this from now on. Every night Dean fell asleep content. That night he did not.


	2. The Roar Of The Crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edited]

_”Stop bossing me around, Dean! Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now, I am asking you, for once trust me.”_

_”No. You don’t know what you’re doing, Sam.”_

_”Yes, I do!”_

_”Then that’s worse!”_

_”Why? Look, I’m telling you—”_

_”Because it’s not something that you’re doing! It’s what you are! It means…”_

_”What?...No. Say it.”_

_”...It means you’re a monster.”_

_”monster.”_

_”monster.”_

_”monster.”_

_”you're a monster.”_

Dean didn’t wake from the nightmare in a gasp or shout but with a sharp intake of breath. Lisa was still sleeping on the other side of the bed. It was four in the morning. Dean got up and began getting ready for work. He arrived at six, three hours early. Hardly anyone was there. Dean took a deep breath. Peace at last.

Dean lazily worked on various customers that weren't his immediate responsibility and that didn't really need any attention. It was almost cathartic. It wasn't like working on a car, though. Dean remembered the days when he could get lost in an engine and when he emerged with grease on his cheek and under his nails, his mind clear and his breath steady once more after a bad day on the field. This work was merely distracting by comparison. So he tried not to compare.

Dean was on his fourth cup of coffee when the elevator to his floor binged. Dean looked up and saw through his glass wall that it was Novak. His heart skipped a beat from disappointment and he refrained from groaning. Why did all good things have to come to an end?

Dean looked back down at some papers that were spread out on his desk before Novak could see him staring and he'd be forced to wave a greeting. After a moment there was a soft knock at his open door. He looked up. Novak was looking at him with...was that concern? Jesus, how pathetic.

"Mr. Smith?"

"Novak. Morning," Dean answered gruffly. He rubbed at his eyes and picked up his coffee cup. Empty.

"What are you doing here this early, Mr. Smith?" Novak asked trepidatiously.

Dean gestured at his desk, "What does it look like? I have stuff to catch up on."

"Hmm..." Novak hummed contemplatively. Dean scowled and looked at him. He dropped his hands to the desk with an exasperated thud and met Novak's gaze. He was way too fucking tired and restless to deal with this guy's weird, mysterious bullshit right now.

"What?" Dean barked. Apparently he wasn't in the mood to put on a face either. Whatever.

Novak looked up at the rough tone. There was a hint of defiance in those blue eyes that made Dean's hands clench into a fist. He held the gaze steady. Novak squinted his eyes after a moment and scrunched up that stupid chapped mouth. 

"Nothing," Novak finally replied. He pointed at the Dean's coffee mug, "Need a refill?"

Dean looked down at it. He sighed and nodded, "Yeah, thanks."

Novak crossed the office to Dean's desk. He was adamantly avoiding Dean's eyes. That was fine by Dean. His eyes instead fell on those slender, tanned fingers. They were graceful and strong, but gentle as he took hold of Dean's empty cup and lifted it like a person would lift an unhatched egg after watching the mother bird get run over. Dean's breath stuttered. He quickly cleared his throat and looked back with a newfound concentration at his computer. Novak left without another word.

The return with Dean's cup of coffee was equally as silent. Novak gingerly set it on Dean's desk. Dean trained his eyes to his computer screen as he pretended to type an email. When he heard the clink of the mug to the glass desk Dean muttered a thanks. He finished the “email” with a sigh and turned to his cup. There, standing tall in front of his desk and staring at him, was Novak. Needless to say it was unsettling and made Dean jump in his seat.

“Novak!” Dean growled. He slapped his hand over his chest and set his glare to stun, “I thought you’d left! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“You don’t have anything to catch up on,” Novak said evenly, as if he wasn’t being the creepiest guy on the planet.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, “Excuse me?”

“You barely have anything planned for even today. So why are you here so early?” The question was presented innocently enough, but Dean knew it was loaded.

“It’s called taking initiative, Novak. It’s a trait that maybe you should get acquainted with,” Dean snarled with a smile. Novak’s measured countenance did not shift at all at the demeaning response. It was already driving Dean crazy how ineffectual he was being.

There was silence. Glare on stare. Dean’s patience was beginning to wear thin when Novak hummed once more, “Hmm…”

“What?” Dean nearly shouted. 

This time Novak gave him an actual reply: “I know you don’t have anything to do here. I’m not dumb, Mr. Smith. I do take initiative. I happen to memorize your entire schedule every day. So, I’m going to ask again, what are you doing here? And why are you lying about it?”

Dean was taken aback. He faltered for a minute before spitting out viciously, “This is none of your business, Novak.”

“Is everything alright?”

“The company is fine. I can assure you—”

“Are _you_ alright?”

Dean paused, “That’s very inappropriate of you to ask, Mr. Novak. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Hmm…”

Another prolonged silence. Novak didn’t move. Dean’s jaw was set and he was stubborn not to succumb to the quiet and give the strange man the satisfaction of a response. No way.

And then Dean didn’t have to worry about controlling his mouth because Novak finally made a move. He gave a short nod, breaking the eye contact, and turned to leave. Dean didn't relax, though, wouldn’t until Novak's heavy presence was out of his office entirely. And of course, right at the door Novak looked over his shoulder back to Dean. His eyes were sad? Confused? Understanding? No, they were that same shade of concerned that this all had begun with. Before Dean could yell at Novak to wipe that look from his face, though, the man said softly, tenderly, meaningfully, “You don’t think you deserve to be happy.”

It wasn’t a question. Dean began to retort but then Novak was gone. There was something he left behind, though. That one sentence. It was haunting.

The coffee steamed next to Dean’s shaking hands. He couldn't bring himself to drink it.

When Dean made his way home that Thursday night he was conflicted between being thankful and agitated. Thankful that he didn’t have to see those stupid blue eyes for another four days. Agitated because he realized too late that he missed his opportunity to get rid of Novak for good. That morning he and Novak hadn't been the only people in the building. The security had also been there, downstairs. Dean could have called them up to his office and easily had Novak removed for harassment. Dean’s word over Novak’s and with a few white lies later and that creepy blue-eyed creten would have been out of a job and Dean’s life. Dean hated himself for not thinking of the plan when the circumstance had arisen. He played the scenario over and over again in his head until he was sick with self loathing. By one in the morning Dean was contemplating if he could somehow construe a similar environment where he could put his late plan into action. By three he gave up on the idea. Lisa pressed her thinly veiled bosom against Dean’s side. Her chest rose and fell evenly, soft snores escaping her parted mouth. Dean had been rough that night in coitus. Almost mean. Ruthless. He had never been that way with Lisa, with anybody, but there was anger in Dean that he couldn’t get out any other way. Lisa had come hard. Dean didn’t care. He was too focused on thinking about delicate fingers on coffee mugs and plump chapped lips forming aggravatingly calm sentences to enjoy being with Lisa. If he didn’t hate himself before then he definitely did at four thirty.

###### 

Even the thought that he wouldn’t be seeing Novak the next day didn’t help Dean fall asleep. He was more tired than ever as he trudged through his Novak-less work day.

By five o’clock Dean was getting ready to leave as usual. And yet he couldn't seem to get up from his desk. The thoughts that had whirled through his mind last night scared him. He hadn’t waited for Lisa to wake up in the morning because he didn’t know how to react to seeing her after what had happened between them last night under the sheets, and he still didn’t want to interact with her just yet.

Thankfully, Garth saved him. That’s one sentence Dean never thought he’d say, but damn was he grateful. The tall, lanky, white-washed HR representative moron asked Dean if he wanted to go out for drinks with some other coworkers. Normally, Dean would consider the sort of people from the office he’d be seen acquainting himself with, and Garth would usually be one to definitely avoid. That night, Dean didn't even think twice to accept. He called Lisa and told her he’d be late. She giggled and told him she’d wait up. He hung up and sighed heavily.

Garth took him, Jo, Chuck, and Kevin to some hip bar. It wasn’t a club, but it was definitely too contemporary for his taste nonetheless. The other three seemed to be into this YOLO bullshit (except Jo, who at least had the decency to groan loudly when Garth directed them towards the signless entrance) so Dean didn’t complain past an eye roll when the back of his hand was unceremoniously smacked with a neon stamp. Garth seemed to come here a lot because everyone recognized him and gave him a table right next to the stage. That was a little unsettling to think about so Dean ordered a strong straight whiskey.

“Y’all excited?” Garth called over the crowd to the small posse. There was no music playing, just the roar of the crowded bar. But that wasn't as strange as seeing Garth slurp a fruity drink from a twisty straw.

“For what? Getting outta here?” Jo teased, taking a swig from her beer. 

"No, silly! For the band!”

“Band?” Dean chimed in.

Garth nodded and set down his girly drink. Dean eyed the brightly colored contents warily as Garth leaned in with wide eyes, “Didn’t you hear me, dude! Dante's Divine is playing, yo!"

"Who?" Dean asked with a scowl, looking over to the other three for guidance.

"Ah, dude," Kevin, the up and coming head accountant, groaned, "you don't know Dante's Divine?"

"They sound like boring nerds," Jo sighed.

"Nah, nah! They're really good," Chuck assured timidly. They all leaned in around the round table to hear him, "I've never seen them live, but when Garth introduced me to their EP...wow."

"They're E what?" Dean tried to ask right as the lights dimmed. Garth hurriedly shushed him with a flip of his wrist and eagerly turned towards the darkened stage. The bar cheered with excitement. The room buzzed with anticipation. Dean found himself gulping with curious anxiety. 

The crowd went silent.

A high pitched keyboard played notes. The stage remained dark.

A guitar chimed in. Another guitar, deeper in its tone, joined. The stage began to filter with soft light.

Drums tapped a few beats and then bam. All the lights on the stage punched to life as all six instruments—two guitars, a keyboard, drums, violin, and bass—kicked in together. In the background Dean could tell the crowd was going wild, but all he heard was the weirdly modern rock and roll.

Spotlights shone brightly on all six of the musician’s supposed places. The drummer in the back was some beautiful pale woman with long red hair, the violinist to the right a sneering man with a wicked smile and burn marks, the keyboardist in front of him a shorter man with golden eyes that twinkled with mischief and matched his smirk, the bass on to the left was a tall imposing man who eyed the crowd steadily, and the first guitarist nearest to Dean’s table was a middle-aged blonde man with an extreme v-neck t-shirt and an awful fake tan. Center stage was an empty spotlight and mic. Where was the second guitarist? The intro continued on in its instrumental upbeat rock pace. Dean found himself tapping his foot.

Then, from the shadows in front of the drums came a figure. Right as the intro turned into the verse the man stepped into the spotlight. He thrust his head forward in some elegant punk way and began to sing:

“ _All these buckets of rain, I’ve heard enough about it._  
 _You say that I lie_  
 _I am a gentleman! Didn’t I ask for a place I could stay?_  
 _What were we both thinkin’?_  
 _The next part just got in the way._  
 _You were just always talking about changin’, changin’_  
 _What if I was the same man, same man, the same I always was?_ ”

Dean couldn’t refrain his jaw from dropping. Center stage, playing the guitar and singing in those rough tones was his personal assistance and soon to be secretary, Novak. He wasn’t wearing a suit and his hair wasn’t perfectly combed now, though. The man was instead wearing tight torn jeans, a sleeveless black tee, his hair roughed up and his jaw stubbled. His ears and lip were heavily pierced as well. And there were tattoos. God, were there tattoos. Dean could hardly see any of that tan skin on his arm through the thick black ink, and the low collared tee revealed that they traveled over his chest and even up his neck, even peeked through the holes of his jeans on muscular thighs. Dean gulped.

“ _And all these things that you say,_  
 _Like I’ll forget about the mind-numbing games that you play._  
 _I am a gentleman! Didn’t I pay for every laugh, every dime,_  
 _Every bit every time, and then you feed me some line!_  
 _I won’t hear one more word about changin’, changin’_  
 _Guess what I am the same man, same man, same man I’ve always been!_ ”

As the song turns into the rift Dean’s eye caught on the necklaces Novak was wearing onstage. One of them was bronze and all too familiar where it glinted against the stage lights. There was suddenly an all new dread that nested in Dean’s heart. How could Novak possibly have that?

The incredulous eyes soon were snapped back up to those damn chapped lips that so ruthlessly pressed up against the mic’s surface as the song finished.

“ _All these buckets of rain, you can’t forget about it, you say I’ll never try_  
 _I am a gentleman! Didn’t I answer every time that you call, pick you up when you fall?_  
 _But you never listen at all_  
 _You were just always talkin’ about changin’, changin’_  
 _Guess what I am the same man, same man._  
 _Changin’, changin’_  
 _Guess what I am the same man, same man._  
 _Changin’, changin’_  
 _Guess what I am the same man, same man._ ”

All members were singing into their own mics in chorus with a long high note as the song tapered out. Dean hadn’t even realized they had been singing along. He blinked and started clapping along with the outrageous crowd. Garth looked like he was about to faint.

“Hey!” Jo leaned over to Dean and called into his ear over the cheers, “Isn’t that your assistant from work?”

Dean’s heart skipped a couple of beats. He was saved from answering as another song began. It had a lot of drums which Dean actually liked. Novak’s voice was rougher than the first song they played and dammit if Dean didn’t squirm in his seat. When Novak stepped forward during a particular rough verse Dean became blatantly aware how close he was to the stage. He knew should go.

“ _It was a loneliness_  
 _They would confess_  
 _Like the world had gone bad, I guess,_  
 _So they hold hands and look to the eyes of God._  
 _They'd say, ‘Tell me, why'd ya hide from us?_  
 _Why'd ya fill the world with wickedness?_  
 _Why'd ya spare us from the grace but not the rod?’_

“ _Now my dad says, ‘Fuck the details!_  
 _Just keep your head down hard._  
 _Ya gotta find yourself alone before you find the eyes of God!_  
 _You may be broke and scared and out of jail,_  
 _Out the flesh of your own heartstrings,_  
 _But you were born to be a peasant not a king._  
 _So just stop acting like you’re runnin’ from something._  
 _You’re gonna leave the way you came, without a thing!_  
 _With your heart tied to your mind tied to a string!_  
 _You just sing and ya sing and ya sing!_  
 _It doesn't mean a thing.’_ ”

Dean stayed.

He hated himself for liking the music. Hell, _loving_ the music! Dean usually didn’t stray far past the late 80’s in terms of music, delving into the best of mullet rock. When Lisa and he had moved in together, though, she had thrown out all his old tapes. She said they gave her a headache. They listen to Bach now. Sometimes Dean would sneak Ben an AC/DC CD, though. The kid liked that kind of stuff and that made Dean love him even more. But this music. These Dante’s Divine...There was something more to them. Substance. The actual music was ok, a little too light on guitar solos for Dean, but...Something about the words. Not how they were sung, but what was being said. Strange.

The night went on and they played several songs. Songs about love. Songs about family. Songs about losing faith. Sometimes the first guitarist would sing and Novak would do a solo on the guitar. When that happened Dean watched those hands move up and down the neck of the guitar diligently. It was so fluid it looked like he was merely carressing a lover. Dean’s breath halted at that thought. Sweat beaded on the seam of Novak’s moussed hair. He licked his lips as the guitar rung loud and clear over the bar. Dean was aware of all of this in intimate detail. He pried his eyes away from the stage and took a shot from a rack of glasses Garth had ordered. Besides that, his eyes never left Novak the entire night.

A little past midnight the first guitarist with a too heavy British accent announced that the next song would be their last for the night. The crowd booed and Dean smirked nervously at the easy tug and pull between the audience and the band. The man held up his hands as an apology and smiled charmingly. Dean didn’t like his slyness. His attention shifted to wherever Novak was onstage instead. In the back, next to the drums. He smiled at the girl and said something. She giggled. Novak never smiled like that at the office. Dean never giggled like that either. His ears turned red from embarrassment. And then, something celestial happened. Novak turned his guitar around on the strap around his shoulder so it pointed downwards against his back. And then, in one motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. He wiped his face with it, but the crowd had another response. They cut off the first guitarist and hooted loudly at the show. Novak looked up in surprise and smiled shyly.

“Ah! I see you’ve noticed our lead singer! Always the flirt, aren’t we, Cassie?” The Brit cooed. Novak held up his middle finger to him as he grabbed a water. Everyone laughed. Dean didn’t, he was entranced. The entirety of Novak’s torso and back was covered in black tattoos. Only his sharply toned abdomen remained slightly bare, and thank god for that. He had the body of a runner. Lean. Strong. Fuckin’ hot as hell. Dean looked away with a blush.

“In case any of you care, other introductions too!” The Brit called over the crowd through the mic, “Playing first guitar and second vocals is the wonderful and dashing Balthazar!” 

He swept his hand to himself. The crowd laughed and cheered. Novak unscrewed a bottle of water and drank from it thirstily. Dean’s eyes trained on the droplets that escaped from the corners. The rim was so expertly suckled by those fat lips. Dean only slightly repressed the dirty thoughts that it conjured up. When Novak pulled it away his lips were moist and pink. Dean licked his own lips.

“On bass we have Uriel!”

The crowd cheered. Uriel nodded.

“Drums is our lovely and dangerous Anna!”

Anna played a little beat in response and winked at Balthazar. The crowd swooned.

“Breaking bows on the violin is the scary Luke!”

The man with the burned face smirked at the crowd. A lot of men cheered aggressively.

“And the keyboard is Gabriel.”

Gabriel flipped off Balthazar. The crowd laughed and cheered. Balthazar blew a kiss to Gabriel and snickered.

“And, finally! Our sexy and brooding second guitarist and lead singer: Castiel!”

The bar itself seemed to give one healthy cheer. Dean was sure they could be heard all over Texas. Women expressed how much they loved him, one pair of panties was thrown on stage, and people raced to the foot of the stage to wave at him personally. Novak looked down with a blush and smiled. That only drove the crowd wilder.

“Seems like we’ve got a celebrity in the office,” Jo breathed into Dean’s ear. He jumped at her sudden presence and shot a glare her way. She merely winked at him and returned to her third beer.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” a rough voice soothed over the crowd’s insesent cheers. Dean’s head snapped back to the stage so fast he thought he’d get whiplash. Novak was now standing at the mic, fiddling with the tuning of his guitar as he talked into the mic. He made his voice purposefully sultry and sonorous, he had to be. And damn did it work.

“We’re selling our albums in the back and online. Check them out. This next song will be our last. It’s called ‘Half Of Something Else’.”

The crowd’s rampant cheers cut off so quickly that Dean feared that he had gone deaf all of a sudden, if not for the guitar that rang clear and cutting through every soul present. Gabriel came in with the keyboard. The lights dimmed. It was like Dean was being thrust through space itself purely by the force of music.

“ _On the night that we met_  
 _You said that you wanted_  
 _Something more from me._  
 _And it was all that I could do._ ”

Novak was looking down. His voice was solemn and soft. His words were short and to the point. Rough and yet tender. Abstract yet solid. Dean’s mind flowed into one line as the drums tapped to life.

“ _I remember your face, like a child’s_  
 _The way that you blushed, and_  
 _The way that you smiled_  
 _And now it's all that I can do._  
 _And I wake up feeling new._  
 _There’s so much more I never knew._ ”

The instruments got louder. Novak’s voice got longer. Dean felt himself being stretched and exposed.

“ _So I think of all the years spent alone._  
 _It's like you're searching for something._  
 _To make you feel whole._

“ _Like you're half of something else._  
 _Like you're half of something else._  
 _Just a fraction of yourself._ ”

The guitar Novak played rang longingly and sharply over Dean. It was like Novak’s words were subdued and his true emotions rang out through the instrument alone. Dean felt himself slipping into something dangerous.

The music got softer and the drums beat through the tendrils of chords. Novak was still looking down.

“ _Don't take it so hard;_  
 _We did what we could._  
 _There were no easy answers_  
 _To be understood._ ”

Dean’s breathing got shallow. That necklace glinted menacingly. _How?_ Novak’s voice became only a mutter. _How?_ The instruments died down, only the first guitar let out a constant note. _How?_

“ _It was all that we could do._ ”

Dean breathed in. Novak looked at the edge of the stage.

“ _We’re the only ones who knew._ ”

Dean breathed out. Novak looked at the ground floor.

“ _Now all I think about is you._ ”

Dean breathed in. Novak looked at Dean.

Concern. It echoed true through every nerve of Dean’s body as their gaze interlocked. The necklace shimmered in Dean’s peripheral vision, a second thought to the intense blue that he was drowning in. It was only a second. Only a moment. It was their moment. No music. No crowd. No lyrics. 

Novak blinked. Dean breathed out.

The drums crescendoed. Novak closed his eyes tight and yelled into the mic.

“ _The way that you screamed!_  
 _The way that you cried!_  
 _The way that you wipe your eyes_  
 _And fall against my side!_  
 _The way that you told,_  
 _Told me I was wrong._  
 _And the way that you'd sing_  
 _When you'd hear a song._  
 _And the way that you answered_  
 _When you knew I was gone!_

“ _Now I know that I'm blind_  
 _And that I dream while I see!_  
 _And yeah I know it's not clever_  
 _But I just want you with me…_ ”

Novak hung his head. Dean couldn’t find his breath anymore. Novak stole it. He stole his pendant that hangs around his neck. He stole everything. Dean’s insides came to life and flare with anger.

“ _I’m only half of something else._ ”

His voice was soft. Forgiving.

“ _I’m only half of something else._ ”

Concerned. 

“ _I’m only half of something else._ ”

He looked up. Those blue eyes sparkled in the light. Everything.

The instruments tapered out. It all fell to an end. Novak closed his eyes. The lights dimmed down to black. Dean didn’t notice the song had ended until the darkened bar broke out into loud cheers. Dean ripped out his wallet, shoved a few bills into Garth’s hand, thanked them for the night, and bolted. Jo tried to protest, but Dean was gone. He shoved through the crowd in a rush. In his suit he looked professional. Nobody asked any questions when he found the door to backstage and pushed through it. He put on his best business smile and inquired about the whereabouts of Dante’s Divine to some blushing young woman with a headset and clipboard. She smiled and gave him a once over before jabbing a thumb down the hall chirping, “To the right, hot stuff.”

Dean thanked her and strode down the hall, fists clenched.

When he saw that stupid v-neck he knew he had found them. The band was putting their instruments away in cases and laughing merrily, but Novak was no where to be seen. The hallway was dim and black with posters and graffiti covering either side of the narrow hall. Dean was definitely out of place, but it didn’t slow his stride as he walked up to the the five of them.

“Hey!” It wasn’t a good way to start any conversation, Dean realized too late, especially with this bunch. They all stop laughing and look up at Dean. He stopped about a yard away from them and folded his arms over his chest.

“Where’s Castiel Novak?” 

The man named Balthazar looked around at the group after a beat of silence, a smirk growing on his lips.

“Sorry, babe, but we don’t take groupies.”

“I’m not a goddamn groupie. Now where is he.”

“Had to dash, ‘fraid. Sorry, hun, you’ll have to get your rocks off some other way tonight,” Balthazar cooed patronizingly and let his attention fall back to locking up his guitar.

“Look, he has something of—”

“Wait a second,” the violinist named Luke began, touching his chin contemplatively. “I’ve seen you around. Where Castiel works.”

Dean shifted in place, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah! I picked him up once and you were yelling at him about something! Yeah, guys, this is Castiel’s piece of shit boss!”

They all looked up with amused eyes and different tones of “oh”s. Dean subdued a flush and gritted his teeth.

“Well, Cassie was right,” Gabriel whistled, looking Dean up and down, “You are a looker.”

“Yeah, too bad you’ve got a mile long stick up your arse,” Balthazar chimed in. Dean tried to glare them all down. They barely gave any effort in the battle, which was ten times worse.

“Are you going to tell me where Novak is or not?” Dean tried to sound big and booming. At the tonality they all stood straight and crossed their arms. It was pretty damn terrifying as all eyes leveled with him, Dean had to admit. It reminded him of all the good ol’ days with Sam. _Dean, what are you doing?_ Dean stood his ground. Or, at least, tried to. The large bass player, Uriel, stepped forward, and with that coming towards him it was hard to stay still.

“Look here, you pretentious asshole. Castiel left. So how about you stop harassing him and us and crawl back to your white picket fence shit life. None of us are interested in your apple pie, kid. So I suggest you leave.”

The words were slow, calm, and dangerous. Dean’s lip twitched with anger. Uriel smiled softly. Dean’s eyes narrowed and then he pivoted on his heel and walked away. All the way home Dean thought about the pendant around Novak’s neck. When he snuck into bed next to a sleeping Lisa he thought about Novak’s neck. When he turned to his side and let the silence in his mind fill with the music of the night he thought of Novak’s fingers over guitar strings and coffee mugs. When he touched himself he thought of Novak’s lips. When he came and bit his hand to stifle the moan he thought of blue intense eyes. When Dean hid his face in shame into his pillow he thought of what the band had said about Novak calling him a “looker”. When his face burned red with anger and embarrassment at the other things they had said he thought of the pendant. He fell asleep thinking about confronting Novak on Tuesday and demanding the necklace back. There was no way he was getting out of this one. And Dean didn’t know if he was talking about Novak or himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some dialogue from episode 7x21, "When the Levee Breaks"
> 
> all songs by The Airborne Toxic Event in order: "Changing", "It Doesn't Mean A Thing", "Half Of Something Else". full credit goes to them for lyrics and music

**Author's Note:**

> title of work and chapters is from the song "Disenchanted" by My Chemical Romance (don't judge me). 
> 
> thank you for reading xoxox


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